Saturday, May 31, 2008

Tuesday, May 27, 2008

I am dreading having to spend another night snorkeling in the cesspool of sports entertainment otherwise known as the ECW on Sci-Fi. Therefore, I have attached a seatbelt to my couch and strapped myself in just in case I am no longer able to resist the ever-present urge to flee. I am also wearing a pair of boxing gloves (no shirt or pants, just boxing gloves) so I will not be able to unfasten the buckle and latch. And to prevent any channel changing, I have placed my remote control in a lockbox that I won on Ebay, purported to be the actual lockbox that Al Gore vowed to place all of our government entitlement programs in during the 2000 presidential campaign. Best $1,800 I ever spent.Worry not dear reader; as always, I have my trusty fishbowl -- this week filled to the brim with the finest Arbor Mist Strawberry White Zinfandel, mass produced for the most discriminating oenophile who can't stand the taste of an already sweetish grape varietal not further infused/manipulated with syrupy, cloying, artificial fruit flavoring -- within reach via my elongated crazy bendy drinking straw.

Let the torture commence.

9:00PM:We're in Colorado Springs, CO. Adamle promises that tonight's edition of ECW will bring the altitude AND the attitude. Already desperate to escape, I double check that my boxing gloves aren't cinched on too tight. No such luck.

9:04: Big Shew vs. Tommy Dreamer curtain jerks. Adamle likens Tommy Dreamer to the guy in the NFL you'd want to give the ball to on 3rd and 1 to pick up the first down. The running back? To all the NFL owners and general managers reading this post: If it's a 2-14 record you're after, then Mike Adamle would make a fine head football coach for your organization.

9:06: To the astonishment of absolutely no one over 6 years old who watches wrestling on an infrequent basis or greater, except of course for Mike Adamle, Shew goes over Dreamer in rather convincing fashion. To my delight, Adamle refers to the choke slam as a "body slam" and describes its effects as "excruelciating." Vintage Adamle!

9:18: "Let's switch positions." Me: Buckled into my couch, drinking wine out of a straw, blogging about this bastardized version of ECW, and contemplating the quickest, least painful way to take my own life. You: Earning a ridiculously inflated salary for blathering on for an hour on Tuesday night and offering the viewing audience absolutely nothing else of merit, even by the admittedly low standards of Vince McMahon's sports entertainment enterprise. Yes, let's.

9:20: Kofi over Knox via some flippity floppity offense. Post-match beat down of Kofi by Knox and Benjamin. Yr syntax error of the week, written in punk rock shorthand: "Shelton is frm th' skool o' hard knox that Mike is."

9:29: Punk vs. Chavo is up now. Adamle wishes to correct the public record and notes that Tazz has in fact never been in a Singapore cane match...except with his wife. Hay-Oooohhhh!

9:32: 2 for 1's on wrestling cliches..."Both men won't give an inch, that's for sure," followed by "It's all about momentum." I strive to find a way to asphyxiate myself with the seatbelt.

9:33: "And somewhere they are watching this match." Adamle is just terrible tonight.

9:34: Chavo trying to wear CM down by "riding him a little bit." And with that, the fourteenth suggestive or more specifically homoerotic euphemism of the night, we suddenly cut to commercial.

9:40: Chavo counters out of the GTS. "Reversal of fortune!" exclaims Adamle.

9:42: The cliches are firing on all cylinders for Adamle this evening: "Chavo snatches victory from the jaws of defeat." Punk loses semi-clean...AGAIN. The reason I say "semi" is because Chavo held the tights while picking up the fall. Sez Adamle: "Bottom line Tazz, it's all legal." This guy is absolutely worthless.

9:43: Footage of Tommy Dreamer after going over Taz for the ECW Title in April, 2000 (if you recall Mike Awesome defected to WCW while holding the title and then was forced to drop it to Taz, who then laid down for Dreamer in the ECW Arena a few days later, who then laid down for Justin Credible mere minutes after wrapping up his promo) and then cutting an impassioned and genuine promo in the ECW Arena is the only thing on this show to bring a smile to my face and make me not ashamed to be fan of professional wrestling.

9:50: Main event time. Morrison/Miz vs. Kane in a handicapable match. I can barely keep up with the gibberish that Adamle is unleashing on Sci-Fi airwaves this evening.

9:52: "The man, the Miz, the legend." Maybe he's earned that reputation amongst collectors of gay midget pornography, but certainly not with grizzled veterans like JBL, Hardcore Holly, or The Undertaker.

9:57: Ringside Sign O' The Year Nominee: "Marry Me Kane."

10:00: The tag champs are disqualified for excessive and illegal double teaming. I'm surprised Adamle didn't retort with the ol' "bottom line, its all legal" argument.

10:03: PPV hard sell post-match brawl between the five ONS combatants plus Miz and Kane. At the end, only Shew and Kane are left standing. Sez Adamle: "Is the world ready for these two giants with a Singapore cane in their hands?" If Arabian Facebuster is doing One Night Stand prognostications, get me down on the Big Shew in a sub-8 minute contest.

Per my contractual obligations, thank whatever deities Mike Adamle does not worship that I only have one more episode of ECW on Sci-Fi left to recap.

Finally, I can get back to giving full attention to my reruns of The George Lopez Show blog. A word of advice kids...never bet a Mexican patron at Augie's "my precious time." Ever.

The Texas Heavyweight Championship (the circa late 1980s, World Class Championship Wrestling promoted version is pictured above), held by the likes of Buddy Rogers, Pepper Gomez, Johnny Valentine, Gino Hernandez, and of course Fritz Von Erich and his boys.

Friday, May 23, 2008

Facebuster nation, this past week I unearthed my third favorite rasslin' related YouTube clip ever (here are the hands down first place finisher and distant first runner up -- which will be crowned my favorite should the winning footage be abruptly taken down and hence no longer able to fulfill its fit of laughter inducing duties). Other than the Hulk Hogan vs. Dungeon of Doom feud, recapped so meticulously on these pages, I am hard pressed to think of a more comically inept non-in-ring buildup to a feud in my 24 years of watching the professional rasslin' than the squabble between 76 year old Baron Von Raschke and Sheik Adnan El Kaise's dilapidated "army" of Soldat Ustinov and Teijo Kahn.

Of course, probably about 98% of the reason I find this footage so compelling are the animated bordering on manic mannerisms and tendencies of the AWA's resident interviewer and foremost cocaine connoisseur Larry Nelson. Be forewarned, the excessive yet poorly thought out use of analepsis as a storytelling device may leave you temporarily disoriented. Think The Usual Suspects with Larry Nelson assuming the role of Verbal Kint.

While I want to let this footage speak for itself, I encourage you to pay particular attention to:

(1) Larry Nelson pointing, screaming, and jumping as Soldat Ustinov nails the Baron over the head from behind with a flimsy board and drapes a Soviet flag over his corpse that appears to be in a state of rigor mortis (this HI-larious segment is available in its entirety here).

(2) Larry getting all Mike Wallace on Ustinov: "What in the world have you here and what is this lettering?" Um, Larry, its another flimsy board, this time with some faux Russian characters hastily scribbled upon it...most likely by preeminent calligrapher and spirograph aficionado Rocky Mountain Thunder.

(3) His startled reaction to the first appearance in the AWA of goofy face maker Teijo Kahn followed by another hard-hitting line of questioning directed at the pinko commie scumbag ("Who and what is this!?").

(4) "Oh jeez!!! Oh crimany!!!"

(5) Grandpa Baron's child molester mustache and his gesticulations that are evocative of the bluster and posturing you'd see before a bar fight between a couple of grizzled old-timers on the precipice of full blown dementia down at the VFW.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Seeing as how the amount of energy and creativity I put into these semi-live scrutinies of The Mike Adamle Show on Sci-Fi is inversely proportional to the volume of mispronounced wrestler names, misidentified moves, puerile expressions, uncomfortable albeit amicable time killing banter with broadcast colleague (The) Tazz, and wholly worthless observations that spew from his yapper, I am going to take a different tact this week in hopes of karmically generating some USDA Prime Grade blog fodder.

No more elaborate set-ups for sitting down to watch what TV Guide calls "the longest 60 minutes on television."

No more running inside gags or tackling sensitive subject matter (see last week's hilarious and lighthearted look at suicide for a richer illustration of this point).

No more getting my writing over at the expense of the ECW in-ring talent or the ignoramuses responsible for calling their matches and explaining their motivations.

9:00PM: Adamle welcomes us to the ECW on Sci-Fi as we join Estrada in the ring with Punk, Dreamer, Chavo, and Morrison. El Jefe declares a former ECW Champion, fatal four way, Singapore cane match to determine the #1 contender to the ECW Title for ONS, as well as a heels vs. faces tag team match for later in the show. After swallowing a mouthful of white blush I exclaim aloud, "Have Mercy!"

9:05: Mike Adamle, alongside The(!) Tazz welcomes us to the ECW on Sci-Fi...again.

9:06: "The man who is so cool his aura can be felt from outer space, The Miz." I dig through the trash in search of the Ambien I discarded after last week's episode.

9:06: The Miz will be facing Kane right NOW. Adamle advises the Miz to "be careful for what you wish for." If only he had talked to the Miz earlier in the day and offered up such wisdom.

9:09: Adamle's phrase du jour: "There's no question about that."

9:10: An Adamle double shot: "Kane's so good with his legs" followed by "Miz is on three dollar bill street right now."

9:11: Miz over Kane via DQ when Kane refuses to break a choke hold at the count of five. Kane continues to inflict punishment after the bell, including setting up the Miz's neck in chair and proceeding to the "third rope." Adamle is worried that Kane could cause the decapitation of the Miz. We here at Arabian Facebuster can only dare to dream.

9:19: Jamaican Me Crazy vs. "The Man That They Call The Gold Standard" is up next.

9:24: "Unos, dos, adios." Benjamin puts an end to Kofi's undefeated streak. Somewhere in a state of the art video editing lab in the outskirts of Portland, the Rev. Von Fury weeps inconsolably.

9:30: Kelly Kelly and Colin Delaney vs. Layla and "Mike Skool of Hard Knox" (ugh) opens up the bottom of the hour. Adamle informs the audience that "Mike Knox has a stare that can burn through steel." I pick up a ball pein hammer, rear back, and pound my cranium.

9:32: Kelly finishes off Layla with her newly christened finishing maneuver, the K2. Adamle helpfully informs the simpletons and those viewers who happened to earn a "D" or lower in their remedial high school math and science classes that this stands for "Kelly squared." I stick my head in the freezer and slam the door. Repeatedly.

9:32: Hard Knox attacks Delaney after the match, which Adamle characterizes as "pure evil." Somewhere in a Wyoming Wal-Mart, Toolie South beams with pride.

9:33: It's deja vu all over again as a jacked to the gills El Jefe comes out and quickly pins Delaney in an impromptu match. How Estrada hasn't been suspended for a wellness policy violation at this point is beyond me.

9:43: It's main event time!

9:44: It's fifth commercial interruption of the evening time!

9:52: Adamle claims he thought he saw Tazz wrestle in a Singapore cane match in ECW. Initially confused, Tazz regains his bearings and renounces Adamle's assertion unequivocally, realizing that in the WWE alternative reality universe, the pre-2ooo ECW ceased to exist since the firing of Paul Heyman, the burial and/or purging of the gang of "ECW originals" from the roster, and the abatement of incoming revenue from the ONS-ECW reunion show of 2005.

9:59: Chavo boots Punk in the face. Sez The Tazz: "Not a fun way to spend a Tuesday night." Tell me about it.

10:01: Old habits die hard..."Punk needs to make the tap to Dreamer."

10:02: Dreamer gets the tag and is a proverbial house of fire. Adamle envisions Dreamer saying to Morrison as he reigns down worked blows upon him, "How do ya like me now baby." I say, the odds of somebody ordered to wear a shirt when they wrestle (Dreamer) picking up the victory tonight or at ONS are on par with The Big Shew actually fulfilling Ric Flair's prophecy at this year's Hall of Fame Ceremony that Shew could dominate the business if he wanted. Seconds later, Chavo pins Dreamer. Then the aforementioned Big Shew's music hits. And the Big Shew waddles down to the ring! The Big Shew's back...in ECW!? I say, Have Mercy! Shew executes a few choke slams, grabs the mike and reminds El Jefe and the ADD addled fan base that -- in case they've forgotten (natch!) -- he's a former ECW Champion and therefore he "wants in" the Singapore Cane Match at ONS. And I desperately want out...for Chrise sakes TV screen, fade to black already.

10:03: Mercifully, Adamle puts an end to my hour of misery with a concluding vow to heed the Big Shew's reminder: "Let us just say, we'll never forget again." I once again pick up a ball pein hammer, rear back, and pulverize my genitals into a fine paste in celebration that the show has ended.

Monday, May 19, 2008

We're waiting...patiently...as we check out some back issues of Pro Wrestling Illustrated, including an exclusive interview with Duke The Dumpster Drose (who's quite lucid for a man that inhales garbage fumes all day) and that there 1-2-3 Kid centerfold...contemplating how he'd look in the buff. Or more specifically, how you would convey what he looks like in the buff.

Apologies for the sweet sweet kang crystallization and "oriental flavored" Top Ramen seasoning packet residue that somehow got smudged onto the corners of this photo.

The NWA Pacific Northwest Heavyweight Championship (probably a late 80s/early 90s version of the title) worn proudly by the likes of Dutch Savage, "Playboy" Buddy Rose, Billy Jack (Haynes), and "Crippler" Rip Oliver...household names from Astoria to Medford and all points in between. Its 35 year lineage can be viewed here.

Also of note, the sink in the background appears to be a Kohler while the counter top appears to be ceramic.

Saturday, May 17, 2008

Friday, May 16, 2008

The fact that Hulk Hogan's "Real American" persona -- perhaps best encapsulated by this video produced for the purposes of indoctrinating a generation of suggestible youngsters into instinctively associating the Hulkster with concepts like "patriotism," "freedom," "liberty," "guitar shredding," and "arbitrary and gratuitous muscle flexing" -- was both the motivation and template for the stars-n-stripes zubaz wearing, make a wish fulfilling, barnstorming road trip across this country's dilapidated interstate highway system Adonis-like character featured above.

Thursday, May 15, 2008

Rocky Mountain Thunder (who?) vs. The Surfer (huh?) from the AWA, early 1988.

If you click "Play" NOW:

1. You'll get the AWA's A-Team for absolutely putrid announcing, Rod "Body Smash" Trongard and Lee "1-800 Collect Road Report"Marshall (it's a damn shame we don't get a shot of the mullet Lee was sporting during this period on camera) calling the action, with my man crush offering up the introductions. I think this quote from Trongard regarding the fashion choices of Mountain Thunder a little over a minute in supports my point: "It looks like he's wearing Levi's along with uh, that, uh, undershirt type top that he has." It's truly a remarkable achievement when one can make the imbecilic albeit succinct observations of Mike Adamle seem insightful.

2. You'll get quite possibly the lamest jobber character/gimmick of all time, The Surfer. Give me The Brooklyn Brawler, the back patting antics of Barry Horowitz, or The Ding Dongs any day.

3. You'll get both the debut and farewell match of Rocky Mountain Thunder, who looks to some speed dealer that Verne probably plucked from a biker bar well off the Vegas strip and promised a push to in hopes of reversing dwindling live attendance, boosting TV ratings, and a generating some sort of buzz around his in-ring product. After viewing this match, it could be argued that Rocky did the latter, albeit for all the wrong reasons.

4. Expounding on that point, you'll get a look at one of the most egregious botched spots I have ever witnessed at about 2 minutes in.

5. And as a bonus, you'll get a glimpse as to what would turn out to be the hottest fashion accessory of 1989...a white string to hold your pants up.

Please also file this post under "Rocky Mountain Thunder: Great Worker, or the Greatest Worker?"

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

We're just minutes away from the passion towards professional wrestling sucking vortex otherwise known as the ECW on Sci-Fi. Better make sure I've got everything to guarantee maximum enjoyment of Mike Adamle's insipid drivel.

My remote control with a fresh set of batteries? Check.

A strong Wi-Fi connection? Check.

My fishbowl topped to the brim with Franzia White Grenache? (much like the University of Puget Sound has a reputation in the academic community of being the Harvard of the West, Franzia White Grenache is considered by oenophiles to be the Chateau Petrus of boxed wines) Check.

A sugar bowl carefully positioned on the coffee table, filled with Ambien? Check.

Our loyal intern Chip's number on speed dial in the off chance that I happen to change my mind and need to be picked up and transported to the nearest hospital to get my stomach pumped and that bullet lodged in one of my vital organs dislodged? Check.

And we're off!

9:03PM: Backstage, Colin Delaney signs his ECW contract. GM Estrada informs him that he'll be facing Mike Knox later tonight. I top off the ol' fishbowl. It's going to be an excruciating 60 minutes.

9:05: Adamle notes that at Judgment Day, the team of Kane and CM Punk will challenge the team of Kane and John Morrison for the tag team titles. I can't wait!

9:05: Punk vs. Miz curtain jerks.

9:06: "Punk doing a great job riding the Miz."

9:08: Adamle refers back to something (The) Taz(z) said earlier about Miz really bringing the intensity and expounds on that point with the lack of credibility, conviction, and depth of thought that we have come expect from him...its too bad Tazz has mentioned nothing of the sort during this matchup.

9:10: A 2-4-1 on Adamle quotes: "As things do happen in this ECW..." and his new trademark "Have Mercy!"

9:12: Miz goes over Punk. In the world of WWE even-steven booking, you know what this means: Punk and Kane will be going over Morrison and Kane for the tag titles on Sunday's PPV.

9:13: Ladies tag team action is up next. Adamle proclaims he has "diva fever."

9:22: The female faces go over in six diva tag team action... Victoria, Layla, ???, Michelle McCool, Cherry, and Kelly Kelly were involved in this complete waste of time. Seriously, I'd rather watch that Sci-Fi reality show where 8 aspirant losers compete to become the next super hero. No, I'm not making that up, it was actually a show on Sci-Fi...green lighted for at least two seasons.

9:25: Adamle throws it to ethnic interviewer Lena Yada -- "Yada Yada Yada Yada Yada!" he exclaims -- in the back with Shelton Benjamin, who gets interrupted and attacked by Jamaican Me Crazy.

9:33 We're in the middle of our obligatory weekly highlight package bookended by commercials for Axe body spray, violent video games and movie trailers, and motor oil. I pass the time playing Russian Roulette.

9:36: Delaney vs. Knox is up, along with a quick plug for this Sunday's Judgment Day PPV, presented by Rambo. Adamle wonders aloud "if Rambo has ever run into Mike Knox." I grab a handful of Ambien and swallow.

9:39: Knox over Delaney convincingly, followed by Estrada coming to the ring for an impromptu match against the laid out Delaney. Shades of the old ECW! Sure, except for the third rate wrestling talent in, fourth rate fans surrounding, and fifth rate play-by-play announcer around the ring.

9:50: Adamle is like the pro wrestling version of Food Network personality Giada De Laurentiis with his over-enunciated albeit ethnically/linguistically correct pronunciation of "Chavo Guerrero." Hey Adamle, where's the love for Lena Yada?

9:51: We unexpectedly fade to commercial interruption as Adamle neglects to inform us that "we'll be right back."

10:02: Morrison gets the win over Kane via belt shot to the head. Disregard my earlier PPV tag team title match prognostication. It could be either Kane & Punk or Kane & Morrison going over on Sunday. Adamle closes the show by haplessly plugging Sunday's PPV.

*Thanks to the Florida Evans character from Good Times, specifically her delayed grieving to the passing of her husband James Evans, for inspiring the title of the post.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Here at Arabian Facebuster, we watch wrestling so you don't have to. That's not just a hollow promise or some glib slogan utterly devoid of meaning or practical application, it's the guiding premise of this entire enterprise and theoretical foundation upon which our blog postings rest...although I don't want to speak on behalf of or speculate as to the purpose, point of view, or programming content of Von. Fury TV (which is coming soon to Arabian Facebuster from what I've been told)!!!

But once in a great while there comes a clip so disconcerting, so humbling, so self-reflection inducing that it compels you to reassess the assumptions you hold about the nature of man, the role of the individual in society, and the reverential qualities of professional wrestling. This is that clip -- one part salacious expose into the seedy underworld of blackballed male strippers and the lengths that they will go to put food on the family table and red hot knife hits on the lone burner of the Tappan Range that's still operational, two parts cautionary tale of how tentative and discombobulated their dance routine looks when not camouflaged by strobe lights, disco balls, and the sounds of some generic 80s synth-pop blaring from the PA.

Ladies, gentlemen, and Hulkamanioids, I implore each and every one of you to put down the latest WWE Shopzone catalog, turn off Access: Hollywod's coverage of the Nick Hogan verdict, and gaze your eyes on this circa 1987/88 footage from the CWA/Memphis territory featuring the focal point of my ramblings above, "Golden Boy" Chick Donovan, joined by his tag team partner "Stretcher" Jack Hart (aka longtime WWF and WCW jobber to the stars and notorious serial self back patter Barry Horrowitz looking much like the inept evil doer du jour on TV's MacGyver), and his manager a young Paul E. Dangerously (or "Dangerly," as Lance Russell prefers to call him), who looks like a cross between a malnourished Wall Street tycoon with a cocaine problem (as opposed to a coked up Wall Street tycoon with an eating disorder) and NBA coach Pat Riley's oft in trouble younger brother (think Roger Clinton with better hair and a East Coast accent).

The luxuriant mullet with the center faux part and bangs, the sequined vest, the bow tie, the weathered and wrinkly skin, the southern accent dulled by two packs of Benson & Hedges a day for 25 years, the dentures in desperate need of a bath in some Super Polident, the face paint (or are those matching band aids on his cheeks), and of course the hip gyrations, pelvic thrusts, and tassel throws...oh, the hip gyrations, pelvic thrusts, and tassel throws...these are the trappings, artifacts, and mannerisms "The Golden Boy" acquired during his years entertaining portly woman and gay men at Beefcake's Saloon and Good Timey Emporium -- Murfreesboro's finest male adult revue and pull tabs parlor -- prior to being terminated for increasingly erratic and belligerent behavior, not unlike the the brutish apprehension tactics of Dog The Bounty Hunter or the paranoid, quasi fascist, non sequitur filled ramblings of The Ultimate Warrior, both of whom happen to bare a striking resemblance to Chick.

Sweet Jesus, I've watched this clip in full six times since sitting down to compose this post. I need to retreat from my computer, post haste. If anyone needs to reach me, give me a ring on my cell phone. I'm heading down to Augie's to catch Monday Night RAW and watch some girls take their clothes off for my enjoyment. I'll be tipping an extra $50 to each and every one of them that can recreate the dance that will be heretofore referred to as "The Donovan."

Sunday, May 11, 2008

A quick reminder from your friends at Arabian Facebuster to do something nice for your mom today. After all, she is the woman that gave you the gift of life (and consequently professional wrestling).

*Please note that in a rare turn of good taste, I replaced a video of Mae Young giving birth to a handwith the picture of Shelton Benjamin's lovely mother seen above. A hyperlink to Mae's miraculous labor has been included for your viewing pleasure. Sensitive readers beware! It's even worse than you remember.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

So, first of all, Nick Hogan is fucked. Officially. Whether or not he is fucked literally, well, only his cellmate knows for sure. I was all set to do a hilarious post filled with just that sort of anal rape-related humor (?) when even hotter news came scorching down the wire (thanks, TMZ, yr a blogsaver).

Not twenty-four hours after his son's (arguably lenient) sentencing, th' Dark Side Dirigible had traded in his black formal shmatte for the voluptuous breasts of a waitress at his local Hooters. Allegedly.

Hogan family parasites Brian "Nasty Boy" Knobbs and Jimmy "Mouth-of-the-South" Hart joined Pere Hogan in several pitchers of cool, refreshing beer and several plates of fiery, delicious Hot Wings. And some salad. And some Bronskys. Allegedly.

Sadly, this time of breast-and-wing-related rejoicing (?) did not result in increased Hogan Family Unity, as both Brooke and Estranged Wife Linda were not present as they were across town witnessing the Chippendales All Live Teabag Review.

Friday, May 09, 2008

This picture of a cheeseburger got me thinking, do I genuinely have unmitigated enmity and contempt for Hulk Hogan and everything that he stands for, including but most certainly not limited to the training, the prayers, the vitamins, the immortality of Hulkamania, the overpriced pasta, an approach to parenting that ranges in execution from criminally negligent to sexually deviant, and throwing some of the worst worked punches in the history of pro wrestling? Or is my loathing nothing more than manufactured outrage and grandstanding for the sake of blog fodder?

After repeated viewings of this corny promo cut during the "Dark Side" era -- a three week or so period in the Fall of 1995 during that craptacular Hogan-Giant/Dungeon of Doom feud in Double U See Double U when Hogan decided to dress in all black and try (and fail spectacularly) to act menacing and borderline evil, presumably at once mourning and seeking vengeance for the loss of his mustache -- I am convinced that my often professed disdain for and prejudice towards this pile of human garbage is earnest, virtuous, resolute, and actionable.

From the Hulkster's black neck brace, to his presumption that the "Hulkamanioids" (those that are like Hulkamaniacs???) would find his interchangeable and childish taunts of "big" "stinky" "nasty" "filthy" and "wart infested" towards his opponent something other than completely pathetic, to bootlicker Jimmy Hart's cable ACE award nomination caliber performance at conveying

shivering emotions of concern and doubt, to Hogan's audacious claim that his match would be a fight for the "destiny of wrestling," if you can't find it in your heart to feel even an fleck of revulsion towards this man then you have no conscious, sense of human decency, or soul...brother.

To sum up, the short lived yet unforgettable Dark Side persona is Reason #199 that Arabian Facebuster despises Hulk Hogan.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Anyhoo, I want apologize for shirking my self-inflicted duty of recapping Mike Adamle's sound of tranquil silence interrupting blather last Tuesday in favor of drinking specially lined can upon specially lined can of Keystone Light and partaking in the most critically lauded televisual programming that this proud country has to offer..."American Idol" followed by "Hell's Kitchen" followed by the entire first season of episodes of "My Two Dads" on DVD...in the company of Aimee, her precocious 21 month year old daughter, and her folks. Seeing as how I wasn't invited back to watch Idol, HK, and M2D: The Complete Second Season with them this week -- I guess passing out in the baby's crib in a puddle of my own filth and cloud of my own stench does not make one an appreciated house guest -- I'll reluctantly fulfill my obligation of recapitulating tonight's 100th episode of ECW on Sci-Fi.

If ignorance is bliss, then up until last night Mike Adamle was in a state of unadulterated exaltation. Unfortunately, that state of being came crashing down big time on RAW is WAR

The War Zone when His Exalted Commissioner William Regal pulled Good Ol' JR from his car crash comparing, hoss admiring, upcoming pay per view shilling, barbecue sauce peddling commentary duties in favor of Mike Adamle as punishment to the audience for not showing his administrating highness the proper, dignified respect. The producers fed and Adamle delivered some obviously premediated, self-conscious and intentionally specious, bungled, hackneyed play-by-play as opposed to just letting Adamle do what Adamle does best...deliver spontaneous, unaware and unintentionally specious, bungled, hackneyed play-by-play. Hopefully this angle of forcing Adamle to come across as incompetent is quickly forgotten/dropped so Adamle won't have to deal with the added pressure of having to rehearse sounding atrocious and just trust his initial impulses and tendencies...incorrectly identifying maneuvers (or at least acknowledging them with the vaguest language possible), recapping his conversations with the likes of Mike Knox and Jimmy Yang from earlier in the day, and getting worked up into a frenzy over Kofi Kingston.

Alright, let the semi-live inanity commence:

9:00PM: A montage of memories from the first 99 episodes opens the show. What wrestling fan could ever forget The Boogeyman regurgitating worms, Kelly Kelly slapping Layla(?), and Vince McMahon: ECW Heavyweight Champion?

9:01: Adamle's introduced by the ring announcer and comes down to explain why he bailed out of the announce position during the main event last week. He apologizes to the fans and to (The) Tazz for letting the pressure of having to remember wrestlers names and advance storylines get to him. To his credit, Adamle is contrite and vows to recommit himself to professionalism. Not five seconds later, he stumbles over the phrase "100th episode."

9:07: Dreamer vs. Knox in a extreme rules match curtain jerks. Adamle on Knox: Once he gets in the ring, he becomes psychopathic...with intensity.

9:10: "An extreme garbage can to the head. Have mercy."

9:12 Dreamer retrieves a "picnic table" from underneath the ring.

9:14: Knox picks up the victory with a corkscrew DDT on the chair. Sez Adamle..."The Knox Out...The Mike Knox Out."

9:14: "What shakes like jelly jelly? It's Kelly Kelly."

9:15: 100th episode flashback...inaugural edition of the ECW on Sci Fi...The Zombie is in the ring -- presumably in search of brains -- and gets Singapore caned by The Sandman for his troubles. Remember The Zombie!? Ah memories.

9:17: Pardon me for a few minutes, I need to grab my cork screw and fishbowl challis. Wine will provide me the numbness needed to endure.

9:27: Shelton Benjamin is out to join the commentary team for Kofi vs. Matt Striker. Adamle vows to interrogate Benjamin with regard to his two match losing streak to Jamaican Me Crazy.

9:30: Drop kick landed on Striker's forehead. Adamle reports that he asked Kofi "earlier today" how high his is vertical leap is. Although Kofi doesn't know, Adamle says he told him it was "off the charts."

9:32: Oh, no. My fishbowl is perilously close to empty. Time to toggle the spigot on this box of hearty burgundy to "gush."

9:36: Delany vs. Estrada is up next. After a couple of minutes of vacillating between this and the shameless she-bot in the turquoise pant suit screeching at her supporters on CNN about her soon to be abandoned campaign, I conclude that watching a power hungry, cynical, conniving yet dejected Hillary is the lesser of two evils.

9:50: Neely/Chavo vs. Kane/Punk to close the show. Morrison and Miz are the latest cavalcade of superstars out to assist with commentary and in order to keep Adamle from screwing up (read: talking) as best they can. All things considered, the Miz gets some pretty clever barbs in on Adamle, including asking him what he would call particular moves. I'm starting to warm up to this guy!

10:03: Adamle says "Have Mercy"...again. Indeed.

Alright, Malibu needs to catch some shut eye. Time to apply the sleeper hold on myself and pass out with only an alarm on my CD player (set to "Hulkster's In The House" from the eponymous release from Hulk Hogan & The Wrestling Boot Band) available to revive me.

How wonderful is my mother-in-law? Not only did she spend a week in New Orleans building low-income housing with Habitat for Humanity, she also returned home with this candid shot of Spinny McBelt himself. Passing by the set of his latest film,"12 Rounds" (click here for a sneak preview), Mrs. Neck Geek's ma took this pic in hopes that my friends and I would have a clue who this "Johnnie Cena" guy was. Do we ever!Inspecting the photo, much is left open to interpretation. Perhaps Cena is discussing the 341 terminally ill orphans he will visit in the afternoon, brightening their lives with cheap plastic spinny belts and waving his hand in front of his face to their little hearts' content. Or maybe he's just asking whether those deviled eggs on the service table are still safe to eat. Regardless, the picture is most significant for what it doesn't feature- namely the applicationof sunscreenon an immediate family member's naughty bits. John Cena, I applaud your thoroughly inoffensive public conduct. I promise I won't boo you the next time you show up on RAW.Thanks Mrs. Petersen! Keep those pictures coming- especially if you see Viscera and Marty Jannetty holding hands in Central Park.

Monday, May 05, 2008

It has just been brought to my attention that I mistyped the link to Miss Bissoux's blog in our "points of interest" section. For this, I deeply apologize. This, children, is what happens when one attempts to edit one's blog while profoundly hammered.

Anyhoo, the error has now been corrected, and I urge all th' faithful to advance posthaste to the Bunny Bissoux website. Further, it's well worth checking out every goddamn link on her page. From the crafty genius of the Wonder League Massive (Rev. von Fury, I think yr lady might dig some of the costume work they feature) to the intricate Andrew WK-related conspiracy theories at Steev Mike, it's a non-stop internet goldmine!

Our sources tells us that an escort agency called "Bella Models" is being investigated by the FBI (sadly, NOT the criminally underrated ECW Tag Team from the mid-to-late 90's), and the fine journalists over at Rolling Stone have linked WWE Diva Ashley Massaro to the ring. Ashley has, of course, denied everything on her MySpace account (declaring that she is "beyond upset," a claim borne out by the fact that she's too agitated to even include a "post song" with her denial [!]). The Double-Double-E is keeping uncharacteristcally mum about the whole thing.

In the spirit of inquiry, we here at Arabian Facebuster have launched our own investigation into the rumors swirling around this diminutive punk pixie. We swung by the escort agency's web site, but you have to sign up as a member to access any (alleged) pictures of Ashley (as well as finding out her hourly rate for "the ultimate in companionship"...sorry, cats, you've been replaced!), and we don't need that kind of heat from the feds, especially so close to tax season. We Google Image Searched some topless photos of her (strictly in the interest of journalism!). We also spent some quality time at burningangel.com because... fucking BECAUSE, OKAY?!

So anyway, Arabian Facebuster would like to offer Ashley our utmost support at this trying time. If she is in need of any sympathy, companionship (our rate is five bucks an hour PLUS a case of Iron City), or legal advice (intern Chip is taking a correspondence course), we will happily provide it.

The early 1980s version of the Southern Heavyweight Title from the Memphis/CWA territory.

Jerry "The King" Lawler won and lost this title approximately 40 times during the 1970s and 1980s. It was also worn (albeit much less often) by the likes of territory mainstays Bill Dundee, Dutch Mantell, and Jimmy Valiant. A comprehensive lineage of this often exchanged championship is available for your perusal here.

Arabian Facebuster wishes them both a belated happy birthday. Wow, for a 743 year old man Mr. Fuji sure seems untouched by and impervious to the ravages of age...liver spots, wrinkles, gray hair with a purple tint, hearing loss, or decomposition of his flesh. Why he doesn't look a day over 585!

Sunday, May 04, 2008

Saturday, May 03, 2008

Above is a recap of last week's Backlash pay-per-view, drawn (by hand!) by the inimitable Bunny Bissoux. I got hip to this massive talent through the web-browsing skills of the lovely Valerie, for which I am further in her eternal debt. Miss Bissoux is a resident of the United Kingdom, and her blog covers not only wrestling, but such trash-culture luminaries as John Waters, Jayne Mansfield, and (ahem) Ashlee Simpson. I believe that her astonishing art speaks for itself, blending graceful and delicate linework with a brooding and iconic intensity that calls to mind the ring presence of... oh, let's say a young Jake "The Snake" Roberts. Even more impressive is her assertion that these drawings are done WHILE WATCHING the pay-per-view in question. Since the average Facebuster staff member can barely form coherent sentences without spilling Camo Black Ice all over the remote (a regrettable occurrence for which I have apologized to the staff of the Tiny Bubble Room), this is impressive in extremis.

Also impressive is her recap of a live WWE event on their recent UK tour. She displays a keen interest in the mass psychology of crowd interactions, and renders her commentary in a likeable and airy style. While it is regrettable that she cannot perceive the charms of our beloved Shelton Benjamin, it is pleasant to be reminded exactly why people love the Undertaker (and not just because he won me a 40 oz. at the '07 Royal Rumble).

In closing, let me welcome Miss Bissoux to the illustrious(?) Facebuster Blogroll. Joining such luminaries as The Dictators, WFMU Radio, and my college pal Roy, her star is sure to rise even higher than Jeff Hardy atop one of those ridiculous double-size ladders he's always jumping off of.

The staff of Arabian Facebuster would like to apologize for any lingering psychological trauma caused by viewing this picture. This is easily one of the most hideous things we've ever seen, but, in the spirit of public interest, we felt it our duty to warn society at large of the dangers posed by this lurking dirigible.

To recap: Yes, that's his daughter. And yes, that's her taint. And yes, yes, yes, I will be throwing up for the next four hours.

This whole Hulk Hogan molesting his daughter brouhaha got me thinking... If presented the opportunity, which sports entertainment luminaries would I allow to lay their filthy, filthy hands all over my fragile person? After many restless nights filled with introspection, vacillation, bargaining, disinclination, unsuccessful attempts to take my own life, and begrudging acceptance, I can state with total certainty that the only wrestling personality that yours truly Malibu Sands would allow to fondle

After viewing the clip embedded above, I am confident that the rank-n-file Facebusteroids would also be willing to sacrifice their bodies to this shaggy, shoddily tailored blazer wearing man, lingering mental health disorders and damages be damned. It couldn't be any more psychologically harmful than say having to endure watching a video of X-Pac pounding Chyna's orifices into gory submission.

And for Stan Hansen's "Simon" to Nelson's "Garfunkel" (or if you prefer, use "Hall" and "Oates" as points of comparison) in building up a match with Leon White (pre-Big Van and/or The Man They Call Vader), please also consider this Reason B.2 that we watch THE professional rasslin'.